The Best and the Beast of Bolivia...

The best of Bolivia is that it is undeveloped...and that too is the beast. Many roads are impassable in the rainy season. But this country also claims ownership to the World's Most Dangerous Road according to the Inter-American Development Bank. This is the road between LaPaz and Coroico. Though I did not travel this road I was very curious and did some investigation while in Bolivia.

One travel guide states..."This road is a gravel track of 3.2m width, the width for one vehicle, 1000m drops, hulking rock overhangs and waterfalls that spill across the road and erode the highway. On leaving La Paz to cross La Cumbre dogs stand like sentinels awaiting handouts. Camion drivers feed them in the hope that the achachilas (ancestors spirits who dwell in the high peaks) will look after them on their way down. At the pass, drivers also perform a challa for the opus (ambient mountain spirits), sprinkling the vehicles with alcohol before beginning the descent."

A new road was recently built thanks to a $120million loan from the International Development Bank but the old road is still in use. This is the best and the beast of Bolivia. Even when development takes place it is slow to grab hold.

The Salar and Heading South...

Before the view of the Salar passes let me capture it in writing...Driving 10 kilometers through water on a bed of salt I see nothing but piles of salt periodically amidst the open spaces of an expansive salt lake. There are several jeeps headed to the salt hotel and on my right I see a bolivian bus pass carrying commuters headed to the next town. I kid you not, crossing the great salt lake. It was a sight to behold. And the salt hotel was another adventure.... everything made of salt...the building, chairs, tables...everything...all salt. Now mind you it was rustic but you could truly spend the night. Though I didn't spend the night I ate lunch at the salt table. I will return to Uyuni..it has a special energy.

But when I return I will be prepared with patience and time. The road south was out. The only way back was the train. And a landslide delayed the train 8 hours. Of course the border crossing was also an exercise in patience...three hours, standing, wondering, what could they possibly be doing with our passports (which they took 2 hours previously). Hoards of people just standing, waiting. A Bolivian man tells me they expedite the Europeans and North Americans that is why they took our passports. I can't imagine the wait for everyone else. Now Bolivia gets the bad rap, but that was a piece of cake next to Argentine Immigrations. Then of course there were the check points along the way south where the Argentine police stop the bus in the late night hours, wake us, lead us off the bus and search our bags. They are looking for drugs from Bolivia... but do they have to wake me twice? What is the problem the second guys don't think the first one's did their job? So next time I head north I will remember what it is like to head south and prepare to wait.

The final stop before returning to Buenos Aires...Jujuy, Argentina

Uyuni, Bolivia

When wandering off the train from Villazon at 1:00AM with a handful of backpackers in search of a place to sleep, a small bolivian woman appears in traditional garb offering clean rooms and bath. I say fine... un bano privado y habitacion simple no para compartir... basically I want my own room and bathroom. I mean for $5 US I think I can splurge. It is brisk but not nearly what I expected. The 8 hour train ride here was breathtaking. We traveled the Altiplano and through areas that were much more lush than I expected. The train itself was an experience, filled with bolivians, argentines, and a myriad of backpackers from throughout the world. I saw the sights, dined and drank wine with a man from Malta, then slept a couple of hours covered in a bolivian manta.

From one of the available guide books in the restaurant this morning I read "Bolivias bottom left corner is the most remote highland. With few roads, unpredictable weather, few scattered settlements, and unreliable transport, travel here is an exercise in patience and creativity. But the rewards for the adventurous travel is first-hand experience of other worldly landscapes. Mention Uyuni to a Bolivian and the response is likely to be harto frio-extreme cold. Nevertheless, Uyunis isolated position and outlook elicit an affectionate respect from both Bolivians and foreign travelers. The Bolivians have nicknamed it La Hija Predilecta de Bolivia...Bolivia's favorite daughter. "

I am hanging here for the day. When walking this morning I happened upon an interesting restaurant with granola and espresso. I know it doesnt sound like the roughing it thing. It was my choice after a long day and night. I am carrying on a conversation with the man behind the counter in castellano knowing full well he is not bolivian nor argentine. So I ask him where he is from... he says Boston... I say Chicago... he says No Way! While studying at Amherst he met his wife from Uyuni and has been in Bolivia for the past ten years. So tonight I am staying at the family's hotel which is wonderful by Bolivian standards. To give you a comparison I am paying $20 US for the night and think I am in the lap of luxury.

Tomorrow I will head to the Salar de Uyuni, the highest and largest salt lake in the world at an altitude of 3,650m, about 10,000feet and covering roughly 12,000sqkm making it twice as big as the Great Salt Lake in the U.S. So tomorrow it it Uyuni north to Colchani.

I am thinking more of Bolivia is on my list for next year or maybe I will just keep traveling now...just kidding, sort of....

Humahuaca...

I arrived on bus after dark last night. The taxi to the Hostal Azul cost less than a dollar U.S. A small quaint hostel with 8 private rooms. "What time is breakfast", I ask. "Cuando quierra, senora." Whenever you want, maam. Late, I am sure. After settling into my room I head back to town, a fifteen minute walk, in search of dinner. I hear music and follow it to the Cabildo Restaurant. There are 5 people seated, eating and listening to two musicians play music of the Andean highlands. Between numbers one musician introduces me to those already seated.. a couple from Humahuaca, two men from Salta...and you he says...me parece Italia... I think Italy. No, I confess...los estados unidos, Chicago. I always still claim the city of my birth as home. Shortly after my arrival two more men arrive and are introduced... one from Buenos Aires and the other from Malaga, Spain. The music was fabulous and the dinner wonderful. As I walk back to my hostel I thought, I am going to like it here.

This morning after breakfast I walked out the door of my hostel and for the first time took in the magnificent view... la cordillera de los Andes...is always breathtaking no matter what country one views its magnificence. As I make my way to town I pass the many indigenous peoples in traditional garb about the business of the day. They are at times walking in tandem with those dressed in the typical western garb that we know. This small pueblo with cobblestone streets and adobe buildings is enchanting. Once again ... me encata!

I don´t know when I will be able to make another post. I leave tomorrow morning for the border and if I am lucky will be on the train to Uyuni in Bolivia tomorrow afternoon. Hasta luego...

Los Gauchos...

So at 6:00AM I arrive at my pension thinking "what was I thinking...I have to take a bus in a few hours! How do those gauchos do it. They have to be up with the cattle, don´t they?" I thought it was just the tango dancers that could move those hips with such ease. Some of those gauchos are stiff competition. And yes, I was dancing until the very weeeee hours of the morning with them. Last night was an immersion in the folklorico experience... and I mean immersion. Now I am sucking on coco leaves in prepartion for the trip to Humahuaca... I hope to prevent altitude sickness as I climb to 9000 feet!

Salta...

De donde eres? Eres de Francia? Where are you from? Are you from France? I am rarely guessed as American... usually it is European, often French. What a relief! Given the current political situation I am thankful to not have to spend much time apoligizing for my country of origin. When traveling the world it is striking the view of our govenment. As an aside, I met a woman at the ExPats gathering who bought a place in SanTelmo (a barrio of Buenos Aires) immediately after the election of 2000. She has lived in Argentina since that time. But back to Salta.

This is a beautiful city, located in a valley at the foothills of the Andes. People do look different. One can see the indegenous influence. I have spoken to several people from Bolivia already. The trip is shaping up. What also struck me is that I am not speaking the porteno castellano. In Buenos Aires the words would be...De donde sos? The minute I heard "eres" I knew I was north. My pension is gorgeous...a small museum. The teleferico to the cerro in the park provided a breathtaking view. And after walking the streets of Salta, visiting the artesan market, and the contemporary museum of art, it was time for a rest. Sipping vino tinto from the Cafayate area I ordered a salad with soya... a form of tofu. It looked strange when it arrived. I querried the waiter about the tofu. Oh, they were out of tofu so they substituted a chuncky looking ham. Smiling my most engaging smile I requested a change, like maybe a nicoise salad with tuna. I am very happy to be here.

Disculpame...mucho tiempo...

Translated.... I am sorry it has been so long! Preparations for leaving town the week prior are no different no mater what part of the world one resides. Though only thinking I'll be on the road for a week the "did I remember this or did I remember that" list remains. Sometimes these week journeys are even more complicated since I travel very light and in this case have to plan for varying temperatures. But I booked my flight...depart tomorrow around 6:00PM for Salta and this morning reserved a room for the first two nights. My thinking is then I will begin the bus trip north but have no set timetable in mind nor reservations made. I am just doing as I said in my pevious email...."Heading North..." I must add my body is also ready for the long commute in bus. Marcelo, the man with the hands, has worked on my hamstrings. He may become a habit that is hard to break. And I could create several episodes of that telenovela dedcated just to him.

ExPats dinner tonight.... We'll see what new comes my way here. I will keep you posted.